


I am Damaged

by Neptunium134



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: F/M, Feels, Funeral, Grieving, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Suicide, oh the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neptunium134/pseuds/Neptunium134
Summary: Collab with ChachaScamander on WattpadContinuation of ChachaScamander's "Lansteban- Friends" (Read that before this or you won't understand.)Parts 2&3 are included in this bookAfter Esteban's betrayal, Lance doesn't think he can take any more. Hurt, angry, tired and alone, he does something no-one expected him to do...WARNING- The following story contains depression and suicidal themes.





	I am Damaged

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING- The following story contains depression and suicidal themes. Read at your own risk.

“I’m sorry." Said Esteban leaving slowly the room, leaving Lance alone with his dark thoughts.

Lance collapsed onto the floor of his floor, pressing his hands to his face and letting his tears run. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his sobs and he hiccuped loudly.

A dark thought flashed across his mind and he shot up, bolting to the door and locking it, throwing a chair under the door handle.

He sat down at the table in the middle of the room and pulled out a piece of paper, and began to write.

_I don’t know what I’m meant to say. I know this seems like a cowardly thing to do, but I can’t stand it anymore. People don’t seem to notice the things they have an impact, but it does. It has such a huge impact on how a person feels. The hate, combined with the betrayal in my personal life has broken me down. I can’t go on._

_I’m sorry._

He left the pen next to the note and padded to the bed, grabbing the covers and ripping them into long strips which he tied together.

He moved a chair across to the ceiling fan and tied one end to the cord.

The other he twisted into a noose shape, tying the end to the main body of the makeshift rope. He tried it on for size.

It was a perfect fit.

Casting a final glance at the door, he climbed onto the chair and let a final tear slip down his cheek.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered.

The chair was kicked away from him and instantly he jerked, choking, his body weight and gravity pulling him down and the noose preventing him from doing so.

Black spots clouded his vision as his lungs were refused the oxygen they so badly needed.

Suddenly his body went limp and the choking ceased.

Lance Stroll was dead.

 

 _Name: Lance Stroll_  
_Time of death: 14:07_  
_Type of death: Asphyxiation by hanging_

 

  
Esteban had left Lance alone, he didn’t know what he was doing but he knew that it wasn’t good for Lance. While he was walking back to his motorhome, he thought again about what he did, he had been such a dick. He had to apologize for everything. He decided to go back to Lance’s room, in the Williams garage. He took the same path as a few minutes ago, thinking about what he’ll say.  
_I’m sorry_. No no, it’s too simple. _I regret everything I’ve done._ No, that was too melodramatic.  
He decided he’d let his heart talk. He hoped Lance was still in his room.

He knocked to the door, hoping for Lance to open it. But nobody came. Esteban felt a shiver run through his spine. Like a bad feeling. He put his hand on the handle, his heart started beating faster against his chest. Maybe Lance had just fallen asleep.

He pushed the door and discovered the most horrible thing he had ever seen. The young driver fell on his knees, his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t believe it. 

Lance's body was hanging in the middle of the room, his face was a little purple and his eyes empty of life.   
Esteban crawled on all fours to the table next to Lance. He saw a little piece of paper. The Frenchman recognized Lance’s handwriting.

_I don’t know what I’m meant to say. I know this seems like a cowardly thing to do, but I can’t stand it anymore. People don’t seem to notice the things they have an impact, but it does. It has such a huge impact on how a person feels. The hate, combined with the betrayal in my personal life has broken me down. I can’t go on._

_I’m sorry._

Esteban knew immediately who Lance was talking about. Him. He felt the tears rush down his cheek, he was just a sobbing mess. He climbed on a chair and untied his ex-boyfriend, and lay him on the ground. He sat next to the body and pulled Lance’s head on his knees, stroking his hair softly, as he used to do not so long ago. His tears were falling down on Lance’s face.

“No-n-no-no… It can’t be po-possible. I’m so sorry Lance, please don’t leave me alone… I need you so much. Wake up!” He shouted, trying to shake the Canadian awake. “It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have played with your feelings, I reg-regret everything I’ve done.” Sobbed Esteban, holding Lance’s head against his chest, rocking him tenderly. “Please come back to me, you’re all I have, I need you to keep going. I can’t without you. I loved you. I love you. I’ll love you forever. I’m sorry.”

Esteban held him against him tightly, still hoping that he’d wake up. He couldn’t stop crying, his body was shaking, he was breathing hard. Lance’s face was wet from his tears.  
. . .  
“Hey Sergey, have you seen Esteban? I’ve asked almost everyone but nobody's seen him.” Asked Sergio, worried.

“I saw him enter the garage, he’s probably with Lance.”

“Thank you! We have some interviews to do, I need him right now. I’m going to find him.” Explained the Mexican.

He left the young Russian and walked into the garage quickly. His press officer wasn’t happy because they were already late for the conference so he needed to find the Frenchman as soon as he could. He found Lance’s room without too much difficulty. He heard sobs coming from the room. Frowning, he hurried up and found the door ajar. He pushed it open and was met with the sight of Esteban and Lance. Except that Lance seemed dead. His body lay on Esteban’s knees, a rope tied around his neck while the Frenchman was gently stroking his cheek, tears streaming down his face.

“Esteban! What the fuck happened ?!” Almost screamed Sergio, running to his younger teammate and falling on his knees next to him.

“It’s all my fault.” Said Esteban with a sob, not even looking up.

He seemed elsewhere. His hand hadn’t left Lance’s face. Taking a closer look, Sergio saw the dead eyes of the Canadian. Swallowing back a sob, he looked back up at Esteban.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, his voice shaking.

“He killed himself. Because of me.” Sighed Esteban.

Stepping above the shock, he realized he had to help his teammate. Slowly, Sergio pulled Esteban’s hand from Lance’s shoulder, holding it tightly in his. But the Frenchman didn’t let go.

“You have to go, Esteban, you’re too young to support this. I’ll call the emergency services.” He said softly, untangling Esteban’s hand from Lance’s hair and pulling him away from Lance.

“No! I can’t leave him!” Screamed the Frenchman, struggling in Sergio's embrace.

But the Mexican was stronger. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and pulled him away. He sat him against the corridor wall, out of the room.

  
He called 999. Sergio didn’t know the Canadian very well, but it hurt to see a young boy had ended his life. He had so much time in front of him, a career, a family. He didn’t know what led to this but it showed Lance had been in distress for a while and no-one had helped him.  
He felt guilty. He should have seen it. Someone should have seen it and stopped this from happening.

  
But it was too late now, it was done and nothing could bring a life back. It broke his heart to see his teammate hurt like that. His eyes were red from the tears and he looked empty. Love could destroy so many things. 

Love just destroyed two lives.

The doctors came a few minutes later and took Lance’s body and Esteban to the hospital. They thanked Sergio after making sure he could deal with what he saw alone. They left him with a doctor to announce the death, first to the team, then to the rest of the paddocks and eventually to the world, when Lance's family would know.

 

Saying the paddock was shocked was an understatement. People could barely comprehend what had happened. Everything seemed to be a blur, a dream.

A nightmare. 

No-one seemed to be aware of Lance’s issues and suicidal intentions. Everyone was looking at their feet, they barely talked, let alone laughed. Silence dominated the place.

  
. . .  
Romain decided that Esteban shouldn’t be alone right now. He drove to the hospital to found a broken Esteban sat in a waiting room, looking blankly at the wall, lost in his thoughts.

“Esteban, I know it’s difficult but you have to keep moving forward.” He said softly while sitting next to him.

He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. His fatherly instinct was taking the lead.

“I can’t, I have the death of him on my conscience. I played with him and I paid the consequences.” Said Esteban emotionlessly.

He was pale. His eyes were still red from crying. Dark circles were highlighting his face, making him look sick. He seemed drained of all emotions.

“You can’t do anything, Esteban. It was his choice.” Tried Romain.

Esteban gave him the piece of paper he had crumpled in his hand. Romain sat next to him and read it silently.

“I’m sorry.” Said Romain, taking Esteban in his embrace.

He started crying again but Romain kept him tightly against his chest until his tears dried.

Romain understood Esteban’s distress. Lance killed himself after Esteban did something which broke him. But Esteban was completely broken after he discovered the body. Romain was scared about the media's reaction, scared that they’d blame Esteban. He was only young, Lance was probably fragile. It wasn’t his fault. He felt his paternal instinct become stronger. He’d help the young driver go through this as if he was his own son. He knew that was what he had to do.

. . .  
Romain went back to his garage and saw his teammate.

“I can’t believe what happened...” Started the Dane, looking down at his feet.

“I know.” Sighed Romain. “No one can. I don’t think something worse could have happened. Especially in here.”

“I agree, I’m so shocked.” Replied Kevin.

His eyes were red too. Despite not knowing him well, he was still one of his colleagues. And no one deserved that.  
. . .  
It was the first time Brendon attended a funeral. He wasn’t ready for this. And it was one of his friend, not a close one, but still a friend. He remembered Lance’s smile and all the good memories. For him, it was no one’s fault. It was because of a succession of things and nobody could change what happened. He didn’t like to see the sad face on all the driver's faces, it was too much for him. He felt the tears prickle in his eyes. A lot of people were in front of the church, most of them wouldn’t come inside. All the journalists should be kicked away. In Brendon’s opinion, it wasn’t something for the media, they’d only add drama. It was a celebration for a dead, they shouldn’t be there.  
. . .

Sebastian was sad, like everyone there. But this funeral reminded him Jules’ one. He remembered it as if it was yesterday. The circumstances were different but he was burying another driver who died too young again. 

It was probably one of the most traumatic things he had ever done. He wasn’t ready to do it again, especially for someone that young. He looked at Esteban who was looking at his feet, the arms crossed on his chest. He didn’t look at anyone, like he was scared of them. 

The German’s heart was broken about this situation. He was ready to do anything to bring back the Canadian from the dead, just to see everybody smile.

. . .  
Lewis walked determinedly to Esteban, he firmly thought that it was his fault.

“You’ve killed Lance.” Seethed the Brit to Esteban.

The young boy looked at him with puffy eyes.

“I know.” He said simply, chocking with a sob.

“It’s your fault! Because of you, he killed himself. How did you even dare to come today?! You should be ashamed, you’re so pathetic.” He spat, looking angrier as ever.

“I know.”

Esteban felt the tears coming again in his eyes. He shouldn’t cry in front of Lewis. He wouldn’t. Lewis moved closer to him, his fist raised in the air, but Carlos caught his arm. Romain ran to them when he heard the commotion. He stood in front of Esteban to protect him, Nico came to help Carlos who was desperately trying to stop Lewis from punching Esteban.

“Lewis! It’s not the time to make a scene.” Said Carlos, trying to calm down the Brit.

“It’s his fault! He killed Lance.” Shouted Lewis, struggling.

“What are you trying to do Lewis?” Spat Romain. “Look at him, isn’t he destroyed enough like that?” Romain replied immediately.

“He didn’t deserve all this attention, you should all hate him!”

“Calm down Lewis! I know it’s hard for everyone, we weren't prepared for this but it’s not like that you’ll change the things. Esteban regrets what he’s done, you can see it 10 miles away. Punching him won’t bring Lance back. He’s gone. I know that you want to blame someone, but I think we can all blame ourselves for not even noticing he wasn’t feeling good. Nobody saw how sad he was, we should have been more attentive but it’s done, it’s done. You can’t change it, I know that it’s hard to accept. But you have to admit that Lance won’t be there anymore, and we didn’t do anything to prevent him from killing himself.” Declared Carlos.

Lewis broke down at the words. His body became numb in Nico’s embrace. He let the tears he had been holding inside for the last days run out. Carlos let go of him and the tall German hold him tightly against him. His own tears fell on his face. It was all too much. Lewis needed to blame someone. He wanted to find a culprit. But Carlos was right. It was no-one's fault. Or it was everyone’s. He realized that by attacking Esteban, he was trying to make his mind lighter, let someone else carry the blame. Because he was guilty too. Guilty of not realizing one of his friends needed help. And it hurt. Because it could have been anyone else. It had made him realized how he didn’t really care about the others and how a life could go away in a matter of seconds if he wasn’t more careful.

. . .  
Nico Hulkenberg watched Lewis broke down in his embrace, feeling tears sting his eyes as well. He let them run down his cheeks. There was no point hiding them, it was too much to keep it inside.

Besides, it didn't feel right. He had let Stroll down once, now he must pay the consequence. He clutched Lewis tighter as he too broke down.

It wasn't fair, Stroll had been so young- he had a whole life ahead of him. He had a whole career, he could've been one of the best drivers Formula 1 had ever seen, taking World Title after Title, winning the Championship.

But now it was over. Stroll didn't finish on the podium with a first place and a Championship. His ride had crashed into the barrier and blown up in his face, and it was too late to put the fire out. It was already raging, eating Stroll up from the inside until the pain was too much to bear and he gave way to the flames.

Now that fire had engulfed them all and the smoke was choking and there was no way out, there was no light at the end of the tunnel, it was the end...  
. . .  
Max Verstappen had never been to a funeral before, so he wasn't sure what he was expecting.

Not a shit ton of paparazzi, that's for sure.

 _I suppose I shouldn't be surprised_ , he thought. A Formula 1 driver had just committed suicide. A Formula 1 driver in only his second season, the youngest on the 2018 grid and the son of a billionaire, no less.

As soon as Max got out of the car, he was enclosed by a fence of reporters and photographers who pounded him with questions about Stroll's death and how he felt.

Taking a deep breath, Max pushed through the mob of press towards the small stone church sitting innocently with its dark copper roof and high bell tower, spiralling up towards the sky.

Max stole one last look at the tower before pushing through the heavy oak doors and taking his place next to Daniel on the uncomfortable wooden pews.

 _As if this isn't going to be distressing enough_ , he thought as the other drivers filed in, all looking downcast and sorrowful, and he sure he could see some tears.

Guilt stabbed at his heart and twisted his gut, and he pressed a hand against his stomach to keep the cramps under check.

Huh, as if.

This was going to haunt them forever.

. . .  
Esteban breathed deeply, holding back his own tears after seeing Lewis and Nico break down. He walked away and entered the church behind the others. Deep inside, he knew Lewis was right. It was his fault. He was responsible for everyone’s sadness today. He was responsible for Lance’s death. He had killed Lance Stroll. 

He walked to the coffin, covered with white flowers, Lance’s favourite colour.

“Hey Lance, I hope that you’re good.” He whispered. “Since you’ve been gone it hasn’t been easy. I want to say thank you, even though it broke me into a million pieces when you left. I want to say thank you because even though I miss you every day, it was an honour to share those few years with you. Thank you for inspiring me. I don’t know if you can see me from where you are and you probably hate me. But I’m not mad at you, I understand. I hate me too. I’m just in pain. And it’s all because of me. But what’s the sun without a little rain, right? Well, this isn’t a little rain. This is more like a tropical rain, a storm, a hurricane destroying everything it comes across. But I’ll stay strong and stand tall, for you because you deserved better than this. I wish I couldn’t feel anything right now, I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing. I don’t know if I can keep moving on without you. I’m sorry Lance, I’ll never forget you and never forget what I’ve done.” Said Esteban to Lance.

He wasn’t sure the Canadian could hear him but it helped him and saying what he wanted to say to him was the first step in moving on. It gave him the strength to start healing and keep on walking.

“When storms destroy cities, they rebuild them, they start over. That’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna fix everything I broke. I’m gonna fix me. I promise. I’m gonna do it, for you. Because this is what I should have done with you, help you rebuild your life. I failed you but I won’t fail again. I loved you Lance, no matter what I said and I’m gonna keep going, to make you proud.” He added, letting the tears roll on his face.

Those were the last tears he’d shed. From now on, he would give his life to make the world a better place and make sure no one ever had to do what Lance did. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt someone like he did. He knew the Canadian loved him, they were some of his last words. So he would make sure he felt his love now, even if it was too late.

. . .  
Marcus Ericsson wasn't new to funerals for Formula 1 drivers. He had attended Jules Bianchi's funeral in 2015, a year after he had started driving.

He sat near the back, the small church packed with Formula 1 drivers and the paddock crew. Not just Williams, all the F1 teams had turned up to send Lance off, to make up for his family.

No, the F1 crew WAS his family. Screw Lawrence Stroll and Claire-Anne, and Chloe. Screw them to Hell. If they couldn't be bothered to come to Lance's funeral, then the F1 crew would gladly take their place.

The day was cold and heavy rain pounded the roof of the building, drowning out the civil celebrant as he meandered on and on.

Despite the cold, Ericsson was suffocating. Ironic really, it was as if Stroll wanted him to succumb to the same death he did.

He took a deep breath, shaking off all thoughts like that. Lance wouldn't do that, even if it did feel like ghostly fingers were wrapping around his neck, squeezing his trachea until he couldn't breathe...

Marcus sighed, the cold was giving him ideas. It was playing with his mind.

But then again, Stroll could play with everyone's mind.

. . .  
Stoffel Vandoorne sat squished between his teammate Fernando and Marcus. The church was cold and damp, making Stoffel glad of the cramped seating.

Stoffel shivered and wished he had put on a warmer jacket, despite the fact it would do nothing to warm the ice in his heart that had taken root.

The civil celebrant started the ceremony and Stoffel flicked through the order of service pamphlet, smiling sadly at the photos inside. He let a tear fall and stain the page.

Placing the booklet back on the pew shelf in front of him and turned his attention to the altar.  
Immediately he wished he hadn't.

There was a powerpoint side on the wall showing pictures of Stroll throughout his childhood and karting career.  
Stoffel choked, gulping back tears that threatened to spill.

The pictures changed to Stroll in his F3 car, his first win and the championship.  
Stoffel had tuned the civil celebrant out long ago, focusing on the pictures on the wall.

When they shuffled to Stroll in Formula 1, Stoffel lost it. He cried out, silent in a hall of tears, and buried his head in Fernando's arm.  
He felt the older driver wrap his arms around him and looked up into his teammate's tear-filled eyes.

Stoffel sniffed and turned his head back towards the altar, still wrapped in Fernando's arms.

They would get through it together.

. . .  
It was rare for Kimi Raikkonen to express any kind emotion, but he was just as shocked by Stroll's suicide as every other person working in the paddock.

He sat solemnly in the church next to Sebastian, staring at the projected screen. He still couldn't quite believe it.  
Sure Stroll didn't seem as happy as he used to be, but it was nearing the end of the half-season and everyone was tired, so Kimi just supposed it was that.

He felt Sebastian stiffen next to him and returned his gaze to the civil celebrant who had paused for a second before continuing.

Like many other drivers, Kimi was outraged to find Stroll's family hadn't bothered to turn up at his funeral. It was like they had disowned him.

Maybe they had.

And that just made Kimi feel worse.

. . .  
The rain thundered down onto the thin roof of the church, bouncing off the stone walls and echoing inside Charles Leclerc's head.

He shifted on the hard wooden pew as the civil celebrant droned on and on, uncomfortable with the whole situation. It didn't feel right, especially with the press right outside and he was sure there were some TV reporters talking outside, blabbing on and on.

He clenched his fists as rage consumed him. HOW DARE they talk when they should be silent in respect for Lance?!? HOW DARE they think this is a good time to bombard the drivers who were still getting over the shock of the young Canadain's suicide.

He glanced around the church as he had done many times before, always looking for the same set of people he knew weren't there. The same set of people who SHOULD be there more than any of the drivers.

The civil celebrant paused for a second, looking uncomfortable and it took Charles a second to realise he had gotten to the part where a member of the deceased's family to get up and say a few words about them and to thank the grievers for attending the funeral.

The civil celebrant quickly moved on, not wanting the atmosphere to become more awkward because Stroll's family couldn't be arsed to turn up to their own son's funeral.

Charles sank back into his agonizing silence, trying to hold his flood of tears in.

. . .  
Daniel Ricciardo sat in the church, for once silent. He couldn’t believe it. It was too surreal, in all his years racing he had never, never, experienced anything like this.

He laughed bitterly internally. Of course he hadn’t, Stroll had experienced it. The pain, the betrayal, and, judging from the fact none of his family had turned up to his funeral, neglect.

It just made Daniel wonder what Stroll had gone through as a child. Was he simply forgotten, or was he abused?

The rage boiled up inside of him. Neglectful parents, a relationship that was doomed from the beginning, all the hate and abuse from the media and F1 fans, all of that lead Lance Stroll to commit suicide.

And what pained him the most is that none of them had noticed before it was too late.

. . .  
Lance's death had been a shock to everyone, especially to Fernando Alonso.  
He wasn't really one to worry about the other drivers and their dramas, but he felt somewhat responsible for the young Canadian's death.

He hadn't noticed Stroll's pain, or the mask he somehow successfully hid behind. He hadn't noticed the way Stroll looked or acted around Esteban, the frightened looks he cast the Frenchman whenever he got too near.

Looking down at the coffin, Fernando couldn't help but feel pity for the young driver. He was too young to have to go through that. Fernando couldn't think of anything he had experienced like this in his 37 years, yet Stroll had experienced all of it, before 20. He had his whole life ahead of him, he was a good driver and could have been a World Champion, he could have met someone different, someone, better, moved on, had a family. Or kept it as less, the choice was his.

But it wasn't anymore.

Fernando didn't blame Esteban, he couldn't. Not when he hadn't noticed anything.

And even if he did, would he have done something about it?

. . .  
They put the coffin into the hole. Valterri remembered the funeral after the death of his best friend when he was 18. His friend committed suicide after a breakup they believed. He didn’t leave a goodbye letter, they never really knew what happened to him. It was the worst thing about his death. Valtteri had been shocked when he heard the news. He had had a panic attack, because of the flashback from his best friend's death. He had been the one finding him, soaked in blood in the bathtub. He had had nightmares about that day for years after this. He felt his heart pounding harshly against his chest, while the drivers started covering the coffin with dirt. He held Emilia’s hand tighter. She turned to him and smiled soothingly. He was lucky she was there when they announce it. She had held him together and didn’t let him go. She was doing it again today. She was making sure he didn’t go back to that place he had been after his friend’s death, that place he had escaped after years of fights. He didn’t believe that Lance was inside this box, for the young Finn, Lance was everywhere around them. He was there and free from his body. He didn’t blame Esteban or anyone. Everything just happened. He knew deep inside him that Lance didn’t blame Esteban either. It was his own choice, he believed that by dying he’d be free from the pain.

. . .  
Somebody somewhere was tolling a bell, and as Nico looked up, he could've sworn he saw a pure white figure standing next to Esteban who crouched at Lance's grave.

The figure laid a hand on Esteban's shoulder as the Frenchman spoke, but disappeared as soon as Pierre arrived by the grave.

It took Nico a while to realise the wisp had been Stroll, and he smiled sadly, knowing Stroll would always be there for them.

. . .  
Sergey Sirotkin took a deep breath as he stood outside the church with the other drivers as Daniel and Alonso lowered Lance's coffin into the hole by a small, pale grey gravestone.

They thought Lance wouldn't want something too elaborate, but it had to be perfect. It had taken them weeks to find the perfect one, but find it they did. It was set on a longer rectangle, allowing space for flowers. The engraving was short, just Lance's name, date of birth and death and "Missed by all".

Graves were really meant to be arranged by the family, but Sergey had a feeling the Strolls had never cared for their son, and so wouldn't care for his gravestone.  
How right he was. They hadn't even made an attempt to drive down for Lance's funeral.

They decided to have the funeral in Canada, in Montreal, Lance's hometown. It seemed like a good send off. Lance would've approved.

Sergey had been asked if he wanted to have the honour of lowering Lance's coffin into his grave, but he had declined, not trusting himself to be able to not break down halfway through.

Tears were running down his cheeks as he huddled closer to Stoffel under the black umbrella.

Suddenly he felt cool hands cupping his face. Sergey opened his eyes and looked into a pair of pure white irises. He almost gasped as Lance wiped the tears from his cheeks and kissed his forehead, sorrow and pain evident in his eyes.

Then he was gone, and Sergey was almost convinced he had imagined it, yet he could still feel the burn of Lance's touch like fire on his skin.

He could still smile through the pain.

. . .  
After the drivers left the cemetery, only Pierre and Esteban stayed.

“Esteban.” Began Pierre.

“Hmm...” Mumbled Esteban, looking at the grave sadly.

“I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have dated you knowing that you were dating him.”

He didn’t say his name. He didn’t feel like doing it. He still felt numb and he was afraid that by saying his name, he would make it true. He couldn’t make it true. Maybe if he waited long enough, he would wake up and see the Canadian glaring at him, as he had done for the last few months. He didn’t care things were shit between them, he just wanted him back.

“No no… It’s not your fault Pierre, don’t blame yourself. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have done what’ve done, it was stupid. I played with his feelings and now...” Chocked Esteban.

“You love him ?” Asked Pierre, wrapping his arm around Esteban’s shoulders and pulling him close.

“Yes I do, but not like I love you. I wanted to be with him but it was different from what I wanted with you… I don’t know how to explain it...” Tried Esteban taking his head in his hand. “Anyway, I was stupid, and I lead him to his death.”

“No Esteban. If I hadn’t had flirted with those girls, we wouldn’t have taken a break and Lance would still be there. I can’t believe I did that. I just want to take his place, I should be dead and he should be alive.”Apologized Pierre, letting the tears fall on his face.

He had done it. He had said his name. Now it was true. He let the tears he had refused to shed before, finally realizing it wasn’t just a dream. It was true. He would never see Lance’s eyes again, he would never see his smile or hear his voice. He let the sobbed leave his throat.

“Don’t leave me too Pierre, I can’t lose the two people I love the most at the same time. I need someone to go through this. I can’t do this alone.” Muttered Esteban, melting in his embrace.

“I’ll be there for you. We’ll support each other, we won’t forget those stupid things we’ve done and we’ll stay strong because Lance wouldn’t have like to see us like that. Even after what we did, he’s too nice to ever want anyone hurt. He would want you, us happy. He’d want everyone happy. So we’re gonna move on. For him. Lance will be forever with us.” Said Pierre firmly.

He stopped crying and whipped the tears with his sleeve. He stepped back from Esteban but keep hold of his shoulders and looked at him in the eyes.  
“Where ?”

“Here.” Said the Toro Rosso driver, putting his hand on Esteban's heart with a small smile.

Esteban looked at him with a sad look.

“I not ready, not yet.” Explained Esteban.

“Stop blaming yourself, Esteban. I know that you’re strong and brave. You’ll go through this. You’ll need some time obviously, but you’ll do it.” Said Pierre hugging Esteban.

They stayed like that for a while. Pierre broke apart.

“I think I’m going to go back home. I need some time to think about this.” He said looking down at the grave.

“I’m going to stay with Lance for a while, I need to.” Answered Esteban, stepping closer to the marble plate.

“Ok, but don’t stay here for too long and get some rest.” Replied Pierre.

He stepped forward and hugged Esteban again, leaving a kiss on his forehead. He squeezed his shoulder and turned around, leaving him alone.

He turned back to see one last time to see Lance’s grave once he was at the entrance of the graveyard. Esteban was on his knees, his back hunched in front of the plate, one hand pressed on the ground, right above where Lance’s body was resting. He smiled weakly, knowing that Esteban would stand and move on soon.


End file.
